Christmas At Baker Street
by SayuriTsukiko
Summary: A series of sort of one-shots I guess. :  In which a lonely Holmes at Christmas, a plotting Watson and an unwanted  but secretly wanted  visitor, leads to hilarious shenanigans. My god I love this fandom so much. Rating to be safe.
1. Christmas

****

Ok, so the other day I had this idea of a series of Christmas prompts and Sherlock Holmes. And it just worked. :D Because with Sherlock Holmes the possibilities are endless. Now, I don't know if this first Chapter is any good, but really it's just an introduction. It's going to get better, I promise. Oh and don't worry, I am still working on The Detective and the Thief. :)

**Also, I think Holmes and Watson have a sort of custody agreement about Gladstone. :D They take it in turns to look after him. :D**

* * *

It was a few weeks before Christmas and Holmes was in a terrible mood. Upon my arrival at Baker Street, Mrs Hudson had informed me that he had already snapped at her _six times _before eleven o'clock that morning. This was at least twice more than usual and I thought I knew why. Not without some caution, I opened the door to Holmes' room and peeped my head around the corner.

It was just as I expected, the room was completely dark. Mrs Hudson had begun the annual task of decorating the house, making it bright and cheerful. Holmes' room was, as usual, the complete opposite. It was nearly pitch black and there was no sign of any festive cheer.

"Holmes?"

"Hmm."

"So you _are _in here. I'm opening the curtains, I can't see a thing." I said.

"Don't Watson! Don't open the- ARRGGH" He yelled as I flung open the curtains.

Light poured into the room, revealing clusters of swirling dust and piles of mess every where. Holmes' was lying on his back on the tiger rug. His hands were clasped to his eyes.

"Holmes? Are you all right?" I asked. He ignored me. So I decided to ask again. "Holmes, are-"

"Go away Watson." He grumbled.

I sighed. "Holmes, will you please look at me."

Holmes peeped at me from in between his fingers, closed them again and then said, "No."

"_Holmes. _I know you're upset, but will you just-"

"No I won't."

I pinched the bridge of my nose in frustration. Why must he always be so stubborn?

"Look, I only came round to remind you that I'm bringing Gladstone round tomorrow. It's your turn to have him." I said.

"Hmmm."

"Look, I know why you're upset. This is the first Christmas that I won't be _here._ But I'm married now Holmes and Mary and I want to spend Christmas with her parents. They're coming to stay and Mary is worried about you meeting them…You don't make a very good first impression…"

Holmes snorted. "As if I actually care about any of that Watson. You go and enjoy Christmas with your wife."

I sighed again and turned to leave. I had just opened the door, when an idea struck me. I smiled.

"I know you're feeling lonely Holmes. But don't worry; I'm going to sort that out." I said cheerfully as I walked out of the door.

"Watson? What on earth are you talking about." He shouted after me.

As I left, I wondered briefly if I had given leave of my senses, but then I realised I didn't really care. This was going to be fun.


	2. Mistletoe

**Whee! Chapter 2! Hee hee, I'm pretty sure this one is better than the last. ****Somebody on the reviews said that I should add more visual richness to the story. I promise I will eventually, but you see I'm saving that for the christmas decorations prompt...Because this is set at the beginning of December you see and it's going to move on from there. :) But thankyou for the constructive criticism! :)**

* * *

Mrs Hudson was in a _very_ festive mood. In Holmes' opinion, she was far too merry. He didn't like it. At present, she was walking around the house, _singing_. It was about the sixth time he had had to endure _O Come all ye Faithful, _and as much as Holmes' enjoyed a good song or two, he couldn't bear Nanny's singing any more. Gritting his teeth, he stomped to the door of his room and flung it open.

"NANNY," he roared.

Mrs Hudson suddenly appeared from inside Watson's old room, a look of exasperation on her face.

"Yes?" she said calmly. Trying to keep calm was the only way Mrs Hudson could deal with Holmes. God knows she was fond of the man, but he was an irritating wretch most of the time.

"Will you _please_ keep that infernal racket down? I'm trying to concentrate!"

"Concentrate on what? I wasn't aware you had any cases Mr. Holmes." Mrs Hudson smirked. At the moment the detective didn't actually have any cases. Either everyone was too busy with Christmas or crime had decided to take a break. The latter was highly unlikely.

Holmes ignored her question by changing the subject.

"Nanny. I though I told you to take that stuff down," he growled, pointing at what was hanging below the window at the top of the first flight of stairs.

"The mistletoe?"

"Yes, _that._"

"It's traditional; I'm not taking it down."

"Nanny, Nanny, Nanny," the detective sighed, shaking his head. "You clearly don't understand. I'm sure I've already explained. Mistletoe is dangerous. Women, namely clients who may end up asking for my assistance in the next few weeks, may spot that mistletoe and get…_ideas._"

Mrs Hudson snorted with laughter. Holmes scowled.

"It's not funny Nanny! Take it down!"

"Mr Holmes, may I remind you that you are my tenant! This is my house and if I wish to hang mistletoe up then I shall! Now, leave me alone so I can sort the Doctor's old room out for our guest."

Mrs Hudson turned around and walked back into Watson's room. Holmes stood still and let the information he had just received from the landlady sink in. _A guest?_

"What guest?"

Mrs Hudson shrieked and jumped slightly. Turning around, she saw that Holmes had followed her into the room and was staring at her intensely. She shouldn't have said anything. He wasn't going to leave her alone now.

"Just a guest," she replied nonchalantly.

"A relative of yours?" he asked.

"No."

"Then who?"

"Just someone the Doctor has invited to keep you company…" Mrs Hudson had a feeling that Doctor Watson wasn't going to like the fact that she was giving the surprise away. But she didn't care. Holmes was going to find out today anyway.

"Who the devil-" Holmes suddenly froze, realisation dawned on his face and he went very pale. "Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. Please tell me he didn't! Please tell me he didn't invite…_her._"

"Mr Holmes, that's no way to speak about a lady whose photograph currently resides on your desk," replied 'Nanny' smartly.

"What are you implying?"

"Only that you must have feelings for her," Mrs Hudson replied promptly.

"I don't!" he snarled.

Holmes stormed out of the room, making as much noise as he possibly could along the way.

"What are you doing?" Mrs Hudson called, feeling very much like she was talking to a small child.

"I'm taking down this infernal mistletoe before she-GOOD GOD!" There was a sudden loud bang as something hit what sounded like one of the walls and a yell of "OUCH!"

Mrs Hudson ran out of the Doctor's room to see what had happened. Holmes had thrown himself against the wall and smacked his head in order to get away from the mistletoe. He was now sitting on the floor, rubbing his head and cursing loudly. Stood below the mistletoe was Irene Adler, looking faintly amused with the situation.

"What on earth happened?" asked Mrs Hudson.

"I was already walking up here when he came to take it down," Irene nodded her head up towards the mistletoe. "I hope you don't mind, but I let myself in. It's freezing out there."

"No that's quite all right my dear," the landlady replied, blinking in surprise.

"Unfortunately for Sherlock, he wasn't quite quick enough when he moved away," said Irene with a wicked grin.

Irene lent down and swiftly kissed the detective on the lips. When she pulled back there was a look in her eye that seemed to say: _'Ha ha! Got you.'_

Holmes groaned inwardly. He was going to _kill_ Watson.


	3. Snow

**Yeah I know, it's not Christmas anymore, but I've been really busy and just haven't been able to write any fanfiction at all...Sorry. :( Anyway, I did manage to write this...So I'm going to ask those who have been reading this a question. Do you think I should keep writing this now, or do you want me to wait and finish it next Christmas?**

* * *

"Look Sherlock! It's snowing!" cried Irene. She turned around and grinned at Holmes. Irene was sitting by the window overlooking the street below. Holmes himself was sitting in his armchair, smoking his pipe and refusing to look at Irene. He was sulking.

"It's only snow," he snorted.

Irene rolled her eyes. "Are you still angry about the mistletoe thing?"

Holmes glared at her. "You tricked me into kissing you woman!"

Irene rolled her eyes again. "No I didn't. It's tradition. Besides, if you weren't being such an idiot, you wouldn't have been under that mistletoe in the first place."

Holmes scowled at her, but Irene ignored him and carried on.

"Let's go outside," she said with a smile.

"Why on earth would we want to do that? It's bloody cold out there woman!" Holmes snapped.

Irene stood up and seized hold of his hands, attempting to pull him out of his seat. The detective gripped the armchair with his feet, being as stubborn as he was; he wasn't going to allow Irene to get her own way.

"You can wear something warm," she hissed between gritted teeth.

"_You_ wear something warm."

Irene promptly let go of his hands…then sat on his lap, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"You know you're quite comfortable to sit on Sherlock." Irene was wearing one of her most wicked grins. Holmes felt a little bead of sweat forming underneath his shirt.

"Irene, _get off," _Holmes growled furiously.

Irene leant forward so that her nose was almost touching his and replied in barely a whisper, "I'll only get off if you agree to come out with me."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, with much complaining from Holmes, they were stood outside, wrapped up warm in their winter clothes. Holmes in a thick black coat, scarf and with his hands in his pockets, because apparently he didn't own a pair of gloves. Irene was wrapped up in a dark fur coat with a hood, (from Russia) and did have gloves on. The dark fur seemed to make her stand out from the white snowy surroundings. Holmes couldn't help but admire her beauty. She linked her arm through Holmes' and they began to walk down the path.

"Oh dear! The bottom of my dress is going to get wet," she said with a slight pout.

"It was your bloody idea to come out here."

"I know it was darling, there's no need to get cross. I wasn't going to suggest that we go back inside. I'll just have to take it off when we get back." She winked at him.

The detective felt the blood rush to his face as he turned red. "You are incorrigible Irene."

"Yes I am,' she replied with a laugh. 'Brilliant isn't it?"

"And so modest too," Homes laughed. He was actually beginning to enjoy himself. When Irene wasn't trying to slip a sedative in his drink, kick him in the groin or attempt some other type of mischief, she was actually quite fun to be with.

All of a sudden, Irene was ducking down, a rather wicked grin on her face.

"What ar-"

Sherlock Holmes was interrupted by getting a face full of snow. The detective coughed and spluttered as he wiped it out of his face and mouth. He could hear Irene laughing.

When he had wiped the snow from his eyes, he looked up. Irene was stood next to a group of the Baker Street Irregulars, headed by Wiggins of course. Each boy had a snowball in his hand. Irene had a rather triumphant look on her face.

"Revenge for your sulking," she said wickedly.

Holmes looked at the Irregulars imploringly. "Wiggins! Tell them not to!"

"Sorry sir, Miss Adler is paying us two shillings each for this."

"Ready boys? FIRE!" Irene yelled.

Holmes threw his arm up to shield himself. "OH GOD NO!"


	4. Decorations Part I

**Ok, first of all, I'm really, really sorry that I haven't updated this for almost a year. It's just that University work got in the way and then it was the summer and I wasn't in a Christmassy mood at all. I'm sorry. I will be finishing this year though. I WILL FINISH IT!**

**Second of all, this is a two part prompt. :D **

* * *

"Stop sulking Sherlock."

"I'm _not _sulking!"

"Yes you are. Now, will you please help me put up these decorations?"

Irene was perched rather precariously on one of the wooden chairs in Holmes' room. An hour before she had barged into his room claiming that 'she was sick of his sulking', (sulking which she had caused) and that his room needed to be more 'Christmassy'. She was now holding a bunch of paper chains and several rather excellent paper snowflakes, all of which she had made herself. She was currently trying and failing to hang them up from the ceiling and was giving Holmes a doe eyed look to try and get his help.

Holmes glared at her and said, "Put them up yourself, you're perfectly capable of doing it."

Irene pouted. "But I cannot reach high enough to hang it off the ceiling! _Please _Sherlock."

Holmes studiously ignores Irene's gaze. She's used _that _word. Whenever she uses _that_ word he struggles to say no and he knows that if he looks at her now he _really_ won't be able to say no.

"You're Irene Adler for God's sake, do it yourself."

"Sherlock-"

"I'm trying to _read_ Miss Adler," he snapped finally. Irene promptly closed her mouth and glared at him for a moment. Then she turned her head with a huff and continued to try and put the decorations up herself.

The room fell into silence and Holmes let out a sigh of relief, lowering his head down to peer at his book studiously. The book was about various different chemical experiments and Holmes thought that he might find something useful that would give him an advantage over Moriarty in the future.

As soon as the thought of Moriarty entered his head, the familiar feeling of anxiousness appeared. He was in danger. So were Watson, Mycroft and Mary, and this thought was always enough to make his already difficult bouts of insomnia even worse. He glanced at Irene from the corner of his eye. She was in danger too and it suddenly occurred to him that she was putting herself at risk just being here. With him. Just to keep him company at Christmas.

He suddenly felt guilty.

He was just working up the courage to offer to help her when she suddenly screamed.

Irene had been trying to get closer to the ceiling by putting one foot on the back of the chair and performing a precarious balancing act. Unfortunately the chair tipped and she had gone flying, hitting the wall in front of her head first and falling in a crumpled heap onto the floor.

Holmes rushed to her side and turned her to check and seen if she was all right. She was unconscious and Holmes immediately began to panic. He scooped her up and dropped her onto his bed. Then he seized his coat and ran out of his room and rushed downstairs whilst shouting for 'Nanny' to sit with her while he fetched Watson.

* * *

**To be continued…**

**Way too ominous for this story. Ha ha ha. XD**


	5. Decorations Part II

**Hee, ok so I know I was going to try and finish this before Christmas, but I've been really, really busy. With Christmas stuff, with essays, with work…the list is never ending I assure you. I hope you've all had a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. I haven't really because I've had two different types of the flu since Christmas (I'd get the flu jab, because I get the flu EVERY DAMN YEAR, but I can't because it's a live vaccination and I can't have those…). So anyway, I'm going to finish this before I go back to Uni this month. :D**

**First of all, I went to see A Game of Shadows (on the day it came out because I'm awesome like that). I LOVED IT. Well…apart from one bit *scowls* I shan't say because of Spoilers, but if you've seen it you'll know what I'm talking about. Anyway I have a theory that it isn't that way and the general consensus on the internet seems to think the same…And I'm incorporating said theory into a story, because I was stuck on it until then and now I'm inspired. :) **

**But other than that the film is epic. If you haven't seen it…why the hell not? Get your arse down to the cinema now and watch it! WATCH THE HELL OUT OF IT!**

**Oh one last thing, thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter, if I haven't replied to you I apologise. Well, apart from one anonymous reviewer, ****Adder, who demanded me to update because 'it's Christmas' and did this on Christmas day. Yes…because I'm really going to write stories when there is turkey, stuffing and bread sauce to eat.**

**Wow…long author's note. I'll shut up now. Oh but wait! It's the 6th of January, which is supposed to be Holmes' birthday! So Happy Birthday Sherlock Holmes. Although I'm totally sure he wouldn't apreciate that sentiment, BUT NEVER MIND! **

* * *

Irene was still unconscious when Holmes came back to Baker Street with Watson. The doctor declared that she would be fine, albeit the fact that she would have a rather nasty headache and an ugly bruise on her forehead when she woke up.

This did not stop Sherlock Holmes from worrying about her though.

"Holmes, stop pacing. She's fine," Watson snapped, looking up from packing his medical equipment into his portmanteau.

"I know, but-"

"It's your fault and you're feeling guilty?"

"Shut up," growled Holmes.

Holmes stopped pacing and glared at the wall. Because what Watson had said was true. It was his fault. If he'd just helped her…His gaze turned to the abandoned pile of Christmas decorations and he began to think.

"Watson, get out," he said suddenly.

"What?" Watson replied, as he blinked in surprise.

"Get out," Holmes repeated, turning his head to face his friend, "_now."_

Watson frowned at Holmes hard. The detective's expression was not one of annoyance, it was the same distracted expression he often had when he was thinking about a case. It occurred to Watson as he left the room that he was thinking about Irene.

She was after all his everlasting mystery.

* * *

Irene Adler awoke with a groan, her head throbbing in pain. She pressed her hand to her head and immediately removed it, swearing at the pain it had caused. She flopped back onto the bed and pulled the covers over her head.

A hand suddenly shook her shoulder.

"Irene…come on, get up, I want to show you something…" said Holmes.

"Go away Sherlock," mumbled Irene.

There was an awkward pause while Holmes tried to think of what the best thing was say. The truth was that there was only one thing he _could say._

"I…I should have…I mean…it was wrong of me to…"

Irene lifted the covers off of her head and frowned at him.

"Are you trying to apologise to me?"

"…Yes," Holmes muttered.

Irene sat up and looked at him expectantly. "Go on then," she said fiercely.

"I'm sorry Irene, I should have helped you put the decorations up," he replied sincerely.

Irene sniffed. "Hmmmm…you said you wanted to show me something."

"Yes, get up," Holmes commanded.

Irene narrowed her eyes, "Are you telling me what to do?"

"…No?"

"Are you asking me if you aren't or are you asking yourself Sherlock?"

"…I'm not sure."

"Uh-uh."

Irene pulled back the covers entirely and swung her legs out of bed.

"Whatever it is, it better be good Sherlock Holmes. I'm in a rotten mood," said Irene haughtily.

"I promise you won't be when you see what I've done."

"Depends what it is though," Irene grumbled, "if it's a bloody Tarantula I'll bloody kill y-…Oh. _Oh._"

"Do you like it?" asked Holmes, shifting on his feet nervously. "It was _my_ fault, so I decided I'd do what I should have done in the first place…"

Holmes had decorated the room with all of the decorations she'd been trying to put up before her fall. All of the paper chains and snowflakes she'd made were up, accompanied by several other decorations, including holly wreaths and some baubles supplied by Mrs Hudson.

"There are some extra things, because you said you wanted it to be more 'Christmassy' in here. I don't know why though, it's my room not yours. Just because _you_ choose to spend an inordinate amount of time in here every day…it's not…What? Stop looking at me like that Woman, you're making me nervous…"

Irene was smiling at him and it was one of her genuine smiles. There was no sparkle of tricks or mischievous behaviour in her eyes.

"You did something _nice…_and you did it for _me,_" said Irene gleefully.

"Yeah…I guess I did."

Irene threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly, turning her head slightly to murmur "Thank you" and kiss his cheek.

Holmes hugged her back, albeit a little awkwardly. "Merry Christmas, Irene."

* * *

**There is not enough Holmes/Adler fluff! on this website.**


	6. Christmas Tree

**I forgot to say last time that I'd watched the first episode of the new BBC Sherlock series. I thought it was inspired and I loved Irene in it (although I am getting annoyed with her being called 'dominatrix Irene Adler' in newspaper articles-she is in the programme yes, but she isn't in the canon *cross*). I didn't really watch much of the first series because I didn't like what I saw in the first few minutes-then my mum turned over the telly and I didn't finish watching it…I'm beginning to love it now.**

**Nowhere near as much as I love the films though. :D**

* * *

Mrs Hudson was stood awkwardly in the middle of Holmes' room. She had been there for the last fifteen minutes, waiting for him to acknowledge her presence whilst clearing her throat loudly several times. Irene had been flicking her eyes up repeatedly from the book she was reading, waiting for Holmes to do something, but he was clearly choosing to sit, pluck the strings of his violin and blatantly ignore the poor woman.

With a sigh, Irene got up from the armchair she was sitting in, walked over to the obnoxious detective and whacked him extremely hard around the head with her book.

"OW! What the bloody hell Woman?"

Irene's reply was to glance at Mrs Hudson, glare at Holmes fiercely and raise the book in warning again.

Holmes huffed in annoyance. "Oh fine! What do you want, _Nanny?_"

"I need you to go and get a Christmas tree for the living room," Mrs Hudson asked calmly.

"And why on earth would I do that?" replied Holmes with contempt.

"Because you're the man of the house, if one can call you that, because frankly most of the time you act like a child Mr Holmes."

Irene promptly snorted with laughter. Holmes twisted in his chair to glare at her.

"I'm not apologising for laughing Sherlock, it's true so it's _funny_. Laugh," said Irene, who was now struggling to supress further giggles while she talked.

"What is this? Let's pick on Sherlock Holmes day?" Holmes muttered moodily.

"Oh, that sounds like a good idea. Mrs Hudson, we should make it a national holiday, I'm sure the doctor and Inspector Lestrade would agree…"said Irene gleefully.

"I'm not doing it!" shouted Holmes over the peals of laughter coming from the two women.

_WHACK!_

"WOMAN WILL YOU STOP HITTING ME WITH THAT BOOK!"

"I'll keep hitting you with it until you go out and get a Christmas tree for Mrs Hudson," replied Irene serenely.

"Well I'm not going."

"Oh so you like being smacked do you?"

The familiar glint of mischief had entered Irene's eyes and she was smiling one of her unpleasant smiles at him. Holmes shifted awkwardly. Mrs Hudson looked everywhere in the room apart from where Irene and Holmes were and pretended she didn't exist.

"Fine," growled Holmes, "I'll go and get the bloody tree."

Irene's smile widened and she leant forward to kiss him on the cheek. "Good boy."

* * *

Two hours later, having fetched a Christmas tree and dragged the damn thing back to Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes was sat back comfortably in his favourite armchair, smoking his pipe, while Mrs Hudson and Irene decorated it downstairs. He was rather pleased with himself; he thought that he had picked a rather fine specimen of a tree.

Now to occupy his mind with something more stimulating, should he conduct some more chemical experiments perhaps? Or investigate that poison he had found during his last case?

He was on the verge of deciding when an enraged shout came from Mrs Hudson downstairs.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES, IF YOU DON'T GET DOWN HERE IN THE NEXT MINUTE AND A HALF I WILL FORCE FEED YOU COD LIVER OIL UNITL EITHER YOU OR I ARE DEAD!"

The detective sighed in exasperation as he got up and made his way downstairs.

As he got to the downstairs living room he said, "What is it now _Nanny?_ Have I broken something? Have I left an experiment down here? Is it the tip of the neighbour's cat's tail? I can't find it you know I-Oh dear."

"Yes", said Mrs Hudson fiercely, "Oh dear. Look at the mess on my floor Mr Holmes! Look at it! Are you going to clean that up?"

Every single needle on the tree had fallen off.

"You bought a dry tree Sherlock," said Irene, who did not look very impressed.

"It's a tree Irene, they're _all_ dry."

"Christmas trees have to be watered regularly so the needles don't drop off. This one clearly hasn't been," snapped Irene. "Who did you buy it from?" she added.

"From one of my gypsy friends…"

"Oh well that explains it then, why didn't you get it from somewhere decent?" Mrs Hudson asked crossly.

"Because there is nowhere in the immediate area that sells decent ones," Holmes replied calmly.

Mrs Hudson stared at him in disbelief. Irene reached towards the nearby table to pick up her book...

_WHACK!_

* * *

**And now we break the fourth wall:**

**Me: Let's all hit Holmes with books!**

**Irene, Watson, Mary, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson: HELL YES!**

**Moriarty: Can I join in?**

**Me: Hell no you can't. He's ours to torture; take your fish hook elsewhere creepy Professor man. **

**Moriarty: D:**


	7. The Christmas Cake

**Goodness, I haven't actually found the time or energy to sit down and write more chapters of this recently…Anyway, it really did take my mother two months to prepare her Christmas cake. Inspiration for this. **

* * *

Holmes was out on a case, which meant Irene had been left to her own devices at 221B and was therefore bored out of her skull. She had read a book for a little while before getting annoyed with it and flinging it across the room in frustration. She had then spent an hour hiding various possessions of Holmes' around the room. His violin, the Persian slipper which housed all of his tobacco, his favourite hat…

And then she was bored again. So, she decided to go and see what Mrs Hudson was up to, in the hope that the landlady would be doing something at least marginally interesting. Irene made her way downstairs to the kitchen, where she found Mrs Hudson covered in what appeared to be icing.

"It's finished!" she declared proudly.

"What is?" Irene asked.

"My Christmas cake, I've been making it since October."

"Since _October?_" said Irene incredulously.

"Oh yes, when you are very busy it can take time to get round to it and I'm always quite busy because of a certain irritating tenant of mine. I'm sure you know."

Irene laughed and said, "I do."

The cake, which was sat in the middle of the kitchen table, could only be described as a masterpiece; it was completely white and had an iced white snowflake on it. It was simple, but beautifully so.

"It's lovely Mrs Hudson."

"Thank you dear. Just don't tell Mr Holmes it's finished," she requested nervously.

"Why not?"

"He has a habit of ruining my Christmas cakes. It is usually an accident, but it's as if telling him just provokes fate. He fell on the one I made last year."

"How on earth do you fall on a cake?"

"He was conducting an experiment in the kitchen and he fell over-don't ask me exactly what he was doing I have no idea- and landed on the cake."

Irene pulled a face. "Lovely," she said, "Well I'll be sure to keep him away from this one. I'm rather brilliant at keeping him from finding out things…most of the time."

"Thank you dear. Now I'm going out to see a friend, I'll be back around 3 o'clock," said Mrs Hudson cheerfully.

"In that case I'll think I'll take Gladstone for a walk. If I stay in this house any longer with absolutely no human interaction and nothing to do, I think I might kill myself," Irene replied.

"Oh I wouldn't do that dear," said Mrs Hudson as she left, "It would make a terrible mess of the carpets."

And then she was gone, leaving Irene to ponder whether or not her rather casual reply was a result of Sherlock Holmes repeatedly threating to kill himself out of boredom, but never actually going through with it.

* * *

Gladstone, it seemed, had been as equally as restless as she was and was therefore extremely excitable during the walk, but well behaved nonetheless.

She didn't understand what Holmes was talking about when he said the dog was trouble, he always seemed well behaved to her. Or perhaps maybe he was just behaving because she wasn't Holmes and he just like to irritate the detective as much as he could.

Now that was definitely over thinking things.

She hung up the dog's leash and walked to the kitchen, Gladstone at her heels, to check on the cake and make sure it was still in one piece.

It was.

Feeling the first pangs of hunger start in her stomach, Irene went to the cupboards to search for something to eat. She heard the front door open and footsteps that sounded like they might belong to Holmes.

"Sherlock? Is that you?" she called warily. If it were anyone _but _Holmes, she had several tricks up her sleeve that they wouldn't like.

She was relieved when she heard Holmes confirm that he had indeed returned. But she wasn't going to let him know that.

"Do you want something to eat?" asked Irene.

"All right then," Holmes called back from the hallway. He walked through to the kitchen, intending to ask her what she was thinking of having. But then froze in horror when he saw what was occurring on the kitchen table. Irene could not see it, as she had her back to the table as she rummaged through the cupboards.

"Irene," said Holmes in alarm.

"Do you want scones? Do we even have any jam?"

"_Irene,"_ Holmes repeated, a little more fiercely this time.

Irene turned her head to face him and snapped, "_What?_"

"You never, _never ever_ let Gladstone into the kitchen under _any_ circumstances," he replied severely.

"What?"

Holmes nodded his head towards the table and Irene turned round to face it. A look of horror immediately etched itself onto her face.

Gladstone was sat on the table, wagging his tale and looking extremely pleased with himself. He had devoured more than half of the cake.

"Oh my God! _Oh my God!"_

Holmes began to laugh heartily.

"It's _not_ funny Sherlock! Mrs Hudson is going to _kill_ me," cried Irene in despair.

"Yes she is. But there is one good thing that comes out of this darling," replied Holmes with a grin.

"What's that?"

"At least it's not my fault this time," said Holmes cheerfully.

"I hate you."

"Liar."

A small smile tugged at Irene's lips, but it disappeared quickly.

"What am I going to do?"

Holmes sighed and walked towards her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked directly into her eyes.

"My dear, there is only one thing that you can do," he said calmly.

"What's that?"

"Hide."

* * *

**Well there you go, thanks to everyone who has reviewed since the last chapter. :) Now I'm quite tired, if there are any spelling mistakes that I have missed (even though I have checked) please let me know. I'm off to watch episode two of Sherlock. :D **


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